


Thoughtless

by vaarsuvius



Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaarsuvius/pseuds/vaarsuvius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miran’s making that ‘I literally cannot comprehend how simple-minded you are’ face and Claugh kind of wants to punch it but also kind of wants to fuck it too. It pisses him off, his face and his voice and the way he carries himself all prim and proper like he's better than him. Claugh wants to fuck that out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughtless

**Author's Note:**

> Vague mentions are made of Miran's past, which means a content warning is necessary for implication of child sexual abuse. Slight dubcon in places.

"Like this," he says, motioning with his fingers, "Go slow." Miran’s face is expressionless as ever and it makes Claugh a little mad. Pretty much everything Miran does makes him mad if he’s honest with himself but he’s trying not to think about that now that he’s in the process of bedding the man. He really thought this would be over by now, really hoped he’d be rid of this uncomfortable attraction at this point, but apparently this whole sex-with-a-man business is more complex than he’d thought—yet more reasons to abstain, he thinks, and yet.

Miran’s making that ‘I literally cannot comprehend how simple-minded you are’ face and Claugh kind of wants to punch it but also kind of wants to fuck it too. It pisses him off, his face and his voice and the way he carries himself all prim and proper like he's better than him. Claugh wants to fuck that out of him. He thinks about sprawling Miran out over the bed and making him gasp and arch and cry out and the thought traps the breath in his throat for a moment, burns into the backs of his eyelids.

"Claugh." Miran’s voice snaps him back to reality, reminding him that he’s got one more hurdle to cross before he can actually get on with this. "I can’t do this myself."

Of course you can’t, Claugh thinks, of course you can’t fucking finger yourself open when you’ve got those stupid impractical claws for nails, why do you even have those, what is the point of those, you goddamn pretentious ass—he pushes a finger in with more force than was probably necessary and Miran gasps, hisses in pain and digs his nails into Claugh’s wrist hard enough to leave marks. Claugh stifles his own hiss of pain and concedes that maybe the nails have at least one use.

"I said _slow._ " Miran releases his vice grip on Claugh’s arm and takes a few breaths to relax himself again. "Go on," he says after a moment and his tone says ‘don’t screw it up this time.’

Claugh tries to be gentle now and although Miran tenses a little he doesn't jerk back like before. Miran directs him to continue like that, slow and careful until he feels ready for another finger. His breath starts coming a little shallower and Claugh's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

He's not really sure about anything in this whole affair, everything seems very precariously balanced on the line between strange and repulsive and Claugh worries that if he thinks too hard about what he's doing it's going to fall one way or the other. As it is the whole situation is just filling him with a slightly uncomfortable and very foreign sort of arousal. Miran is hot and tight around his slicked fingers, his cock half hard and impossible to miss. Claugh pointedly doesn't look at it, looks up instead at Miran's face, still infuriatingly blank.

"This even doing anything for you?" Claugh says, voice strained.

Miran laughs a little, says, "Not quite. I thought you wanted to fuck me?"

Claugh's face flushes. "I do," he chokes out, a little too quickly. But. "This is all so damned strange, and I can't tell if i'm doing anything right when you just make that stupid face all the time."

"You think my face is always stupid," Miran says without missing a beat, and Claugh is about to yell at him for avoiding the subject when he adds, "I'll tell you if you're doing it wrong, don't worry."

Claugh bites back the urge to say he would rather Miran tell him when he's doing it  _right_ , figures that if he does it well enough he'll be able to tell from the reaction. So far, though, he feels like he's been trying to draw a response from a stone. It occurs to him that maybe it's because he's been doing nothing but what Miran has been telling him to do.

Experimentally he leans in to where Miran has his legs hitched up, presses his mouth to the pale skin on the inside of his thigh. Miran starts like he's been shocked. Claugh savors his small victory and moves to do it again when Miran speaks up.

"Don't," he says simply. when Claugh doesn't move he repeats himself for emphasis, "Don't do that again." Claugh withdraws and pulls his fingers out with a wet, obscene sound. "You can fuck me now," Miran says with a tone as unreadable as his face.

Claugh balks. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, suddenly angry. "I don't need you directing me. It's not my fault I'm not experienced in  _these things_  like you are, okay? Not everyone goes around fucking other men on a regular basis."

"Is that what you think?" Miran says, and his tone is so icy it stops Claugh's anger cold, replaces it with an apprehension that closes around his throat tight. "You don't know anything about me, certainly not enough to be making statements like that." Claugh opens his mouth to say something, apologize maybe, but Miran isn't finished. "Besides," he says, leaning back and spreading his legs slightly, "You're not in a position to judge me on this."

Claugh's mouth goes dry. Miran is right, of course, just like he always is, damn his soul. All posturing aside, at the root of it Claugh still wants to fuck this man senseless. His cock is undeniably hard and the only thing that's holding him back now is the feeling that he's being mocked, and he's not sure that will ever go away in Miran's presence.

"Fine," he says at length, and Miran smiles thinly, motions him over. Miran seems small like this--even though they're near the same height, miran's is all skin and bones and wiry, lean muscle and Claugh gets the irrational fear that he's going to break him somehow. He looks pale and fragile lying prone beneath him. when Claugh begins to push in, they both hold their breath and it's silent for several moments until Claugh finds himself all the way in and exhales--Miran follows him seconds later.

He fits his hands around Miran's hips, holds him still while he tests the waters, sees how much Miran can take. His hips are as delicate and bony as the rest of him and Claugh wonders if he could make bruises if he gripped hard enough. The thought is strangely, horribly appealing to him. He's never thought like that about hurting anyone before, never thought of himself as anything but chivalrous and decent. Certainly not the type of person who would get off on hurting someone else.

He tightens his hold on Miran's hips anyway and feels heat rise in his face when Miran's breath hitches in discomfort. He waits for Miran to say something, protest, but the only sound in the room is Miran breathing shallowly. Claugh takes that as an encouraging sign and picks up his pace.

Miran's face remains expressionless but Claugh can see him lose control in the way he tenses and strains with the effort of not moving. His breath catches over and over on the cusps of sounds, throat closing on tiny half-noises before Claugh can hear them.

Tentatively, Claugh takes a hand off of Miran's hip, planes up over his chest. That gets a reaction. A shiver passes through Miran's body and he arches slightly, barely, his eyes shut tighter. Heat coils in Claugh's stomach and he goes further, palming his hand over Miran's collarbone, throat. He makes a choked noise when Claugh's hand comes to rest in his hair, twists in it and tugs. Claugh grips it near the scalp, pulls--

 _Oh_. Miran spasms and Claugh can hear the frantic sound of his nails clawing at the sheets beneath him. Claugh grins and fucks him like that, bends him nearly in half to fist his hands in his hair and listen to his breathing go ragged. It's nothing like having sex with a woman, he thinks, he'd never be this rough with a girl. But somehow like this, with Miran, it's okay, and it feels  _good_ to not have to hold back. He can fuck him as hard as he wants and Miran will take it all. It's intoxicating.

Miran brings a hand up to hold onto Claugh's shoulders and Claugh hisses through his teeth when he feels those nails threatening to break his skin. When he twists his hand again in Miran's hair he's rewarded with a quiet gasp and the feeling of blood starting to trickle down his back.

Miran's calm facade is finally starting to crack and seeing him like this is making Claugh feel dizzy. The man is coming apart at the seams, his slender form shuddering beneath Claugh's weight. He's biting hard into his lip now and Claugh is struck with the urge to kiss him, kiss him and fuck him and make him cry out against his mouth. He could do that, he thinks hazily, he could do that right now.

Without considering any further he kisses Miran Froaude on the mouth, he kisses this man with his hands tangled in his hair and his cock buried deep inside him, and he tries not to think about the implications at all. Miran kisses him back, though, and Claugh's heart hammers in his chest at the vague metallic tang on his lips.

He doesn't think he can take much more of this--he's having a hard time keeping a steady rhythm now. Miran reaches a shaky hand between them to wrap around his own cock and makes a muffled sound into Claugh's mouth once, twice. Claugh pulls back and gives him space to catch his breath. He arches again, bares the pale skin of his neck as he tilts his head back, opens his mouth to gasp.

When Claugh leans back in to impulsively suck a mark into Miran's exposed neck the man's whole body goes rigid for a moment. He makes a choked sound and drags his nails down Claugh's back as he comes, digs his heels into the sheets and bucks up several times until he's panting and spent. It's impossible for Claugh to ignore the sudden feeling of something hot and wet on his stomach, how he should feel revolted but instead feels close to losing his mind completely.

It's not long before he comes too in a few shaky, stuttering thrusts and even though he tries not think it he knows he's never come so hard in his life. He turns over and collapses bonelessly on his back beside Miran and it takes a few moments before he's conscious of the fact that he's probably getting blood on the bed from where Miran scratched long, red lines into his back. Claugh hears the sheets rustle beside him and sees Miran get up, pull his clothes back on over thin, smooth legs still slick with come.

Even like this, in the cold half-light coming through the window and with the warmth of orgasm steadily ebbing out of his body, Claugh's still stricken by how attractive he finds Miran. He can't stop himself staring as the man pushes his hair back into place, delicately straightens his cravat. It makes his mouth go dry and his pulse quicken.

"Until later, then," Miran says when he's fully dressed, not bothering to turn and face Claugh. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him echoes hollowly in the dark emptiness of the room. Claugh groans, screws his eyes shut and swallows down regret rising like bile in his throat. He balls up the sheets and uses them to wipe himself clean before rolling over and trying to sleep. Sleep eludes him though, and Claugh Klom is left alone in this room smelling of sex with only his troubled thoughts to keep him company as the sun begins to rise.


End file.
